


Please Return to Owner

by chucks_prophet



Series: Baby I'm Howlin' For You [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel is a Softie, Castiel is a Sweetheart, Chance Meetings, Dean likes dogs, Dogs, Embarrassed Castiel, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Lost Dogs, M/M, Starring Riot as the Matchmaker, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8820550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “…an hour ago.”“An… an hour ago?”“Yeah… why?”Dean unfetters his laugh, “Wow.” He pauses to collect himself. “I mean, thank you for being so concerned. Seriously, that’s actually really admirable.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Series title inspired by The Black Key's "Howlin' For You".

 

Pull, rip, tape. Pull, rip, tape.

_Pull, rip, tape._

It’s become a rhythm—an earworm that’ll take a friggin’ turkey baster to extract.

At least the street is quiet. Honestly though, it only amplifies the sounds Dean’s making. This wouldn’t be a problem any other day of the week. Usually the air’s occupied with an orchestra of sounds ranging from Martin Creaser on baritone with his lawnmower that spits out more grass than it chews, to the screeching crescendo of a passing car. That and Riot, with his slobbering muzzle, barking in random, rapid succession at something humans aren’t obviously gifted in seeing, proudly waking up the neighborhood.

But Dean can’t complain. Though he definitely lives up to his name, Riot is a sweetheart. Dean will never admit it to Sam, but he takes pride whenever Riot comes skidding across the tile in the kitchen to greet him. Or when he slops his food all over the place with that humongous tongue of his and then proceeds to lick Dean. Or when he plops himself on Dean’s lap like he _doesn’t_ weigh seventy-pounds of fur and saliva.

Okay, so Dean’s grown fond of having the little guy around the house. In all fairness, Riot’s more affectionate than most boyfriends he’s had.

Dean pulls out another roll of clear film, rips it off, and tapes the poster to the stop sign. The picture on the front is of Riot with his paws on the couch, back facing the camera and head turned to the side. Dean laughs, despite how many posters he’s already taped with the same picture, causing a chimney of white smoke to pile out from his mouth. He tapes the bottom of the poster for extra hold against the brutal wind, over Sam’s cell number and the big, bolded text that reads: **LOST DOG: RIOT.**

Before he can move onto the next poll, however, something clobbers around his feet. Confused, Dean looks down, only to find a golden retriever staring up excitedly at him with big, brown eyes. Dean recognizes the collar anywhere, with the name tag and the small bells that jingle against each other when he whips his tail back and forth. “Well hello troublemaker.”

Riot pants happily and buries his head in Dean’s crotch in lieu of a response.

“Riot! Sit, boy. Or don’t. That’s cool too. I’m so sorry, he did that to me too when I first—”

Dean pets Riot behind his ears. Riot eases slowly into a sitting position. Dean looks up and meets the blue eyes of the stranger’s. No, they’re not just any blue; they’re dark, _dark_ blue, like the ocean long after the sun’s set and the waves calm down. The rest of him doesn’t sound as romanticized, from his mop of brown hair that’s been teased by on the tile one too many times, or his lips that look like two body pillows smashed together around a light blanket of stubble, but it still quantifies to the score of his gorgeousness.

Of course, none of those features are looking at Dean, but past him, at the poster.

“Crap,” the man curses, adding a few deeper octaves to his already deep tone. “I can explain.”

Dean can’t be mad at the guy who has his—ahem, _Sam’s_ —dog in his possession. The frantic way he looks from the dog to the poster then back to Dean as a blush creeps onto his forehead relates in no way to the behavior of a dognapper. (Which, according to Sam, is actually more common than Dean thinks.)

Dean stands up and suppresses a laugh because the guy is just too cute, so he gives him the benefit of a doubt anyway. Besides, it’ll be interesting to hear the adventures Riot’s had in the past day that Dean doesn’t have in a month alone. “Go on.”

“Early this morning I heard my cat outside my window, hissing at the fence—which is unusual, because my cat _never_ hisses at anything. So I turn on the porch light and go outside, crack open the gate, and there’s Riot. And I’m _terrified_ of anything that’s bigger than my cat, believe me, but he’s just staring at me with this big dopey smile despite what must have been three layers of mud soaking his coat.

So I open the gate a little more, and he just comes barreling through the gate and into my crotch—which _luckily_ my pants went unseen by the neighbors—and, you know, I washed him off, gave him some water, and went out and bought a bag of food and a leash so he could get out a little, because I didn’t know how long it would be until the number on the poster returned my message…”

Dean narrows his eyes. “How long ago did you call?”

“…an hour ago.”

“An… an hour ago?”

“Yeah… why?”

Dean unfetters his laugh, “Wow.” He pauses to collect himself. “I mean, thank you for being so concerned. Seriously, that’s actually really admirable.”

“O-oh, well, you’re welcome,” the man says, allowing a shy smile. “You’re Sam, right? By the voicemail?”

“Nah, I’m Dean,” Dean says, smiling as he lends out his hand, “the older, way more attractive brother.”

The man accepts the hand offered to him, blush extending wider. “Castiel.”

“I stand corrected: Thank you, _Cas.”_

They stare at each other for a little longer than necessary, but hey, it’s not like Sam’s paying him to be out here posting signs, so Dean indulges before Cas exclaims, “Oh! Right.”

Cas hands Dean the leash, which Dean accepts, but Riot clearly doesn’t the way he starts whining.

Dean’s eyes narrow again as he looks to Cas. “Sorry, he hardly ever does this—”

Dean’s interrupted by Riot’s continuous whining, which gets louder.

Only when he tugs on his leash does Dean realize he’s whining at Cas.

Dean can physically see Cas’s chest swell as a wide, gummy smile crosses his face. Cas bends down and pets behind Riot’s ears like Dean did. Riot melts into him, and Dean can’t blame him.

“Aw, I’ll miss you too, little guy,” Cas confesses, touching his forehead with Riot’s.

Dean doesn’t comment on the tears shining in Cas’s eyes, and instead blurts, “Visit us anytime.”

Cas looks up, mouth parting in surprise. “What?”

“You know, for Riot’s sake,” Dean adds, blushing. “We’re the house at the end of the block. It’s hard to miss, but I have no doubt Riot’ll stop you if that happens.”

Cas continues petting Riot, but focuses solely on Dean now as he smiles and says, “I look forward to it.”


End file.
